Vivos voco, mortuos plango, fiesta decoro, fulgura frango. I call to the living, I mourn the dead, I celebrate the holidays, I undo the lightning.
I'm reading the book Master wall, from the great historian from Badalona, Joan Rosàs, and I find gems like this Latin sentence, one of those that used to be inscribed on the bells of our towns long ago.
This demonstrates, as the author himself points out, that bells were not made to make space vibrate, but to ring out within a human community—a simpler, and of course, much healthier and more innocent social network. And what are the reasons that make a community "vibrate"? A cause that calls for mobilization, shared grief over loss, the celebration of life, and, ultimately, the search for protection against the cruelty of nature.
Right now, as we commemorate with trepidation the first anniversary of the Valencian tragedy, we see the enduring power of the bell tolling: the massive and persistent mobilizations that have finally succeeded in bringing down Mazón; the solace that the victims and their families find in sharing their pain—a solace that right-wing political representatives are incapable of offering, even in the form of applause for their speeches—and above all, this should make us reflect fulgura frango –“I undo the lightning”–, the ringing of bells to alert the population that they should protect themselves from the inclement weather. The alert that didn't sound in time on the mobile phones of Valencians.
Joan Rosàs is convinced that the traditional system of landed gentry has become obsolete and that there would be no point in reviving it. "The world is different," he says. "It's certainly not worse. But we wouldn't think it's much better either. One thing remains valid: fulfilling your social role at any given time." And he concludes: "Only in this way can humanity continue to progress."
Load-bearing wall. Recreation in the old kitchenPublished by L'Avenç, the book aims to preserve, through fiction, the vast knowledge of a scholar like Joan Rosàs. He explains it himself at the end, acknowledging that his family kept urging him: "Write it down." As "payment" for their immense generosity, he asks only one favor of the readers: "Never let the fire go out." Reading his plea fills me with a profound unease because it doesn't seem to me that we are careful enough in preserving our memory.
Rosàs, an educator and medievalist, has carried out tenacious and in-depth historical research, especially on the country's heritage farmhouses. The book he has written was absolutely essential to ensure that his knowledge would not be lost.
The renovations in a manor house are the excuse and the starting point to follow the history of a house, a family and, therefore, a human community, our own.
Reading Master wall In these times of monstrous storms, I regret having laughed so many times at my poor grandmother Carmen, who, when she began to hear thunder, would sit huddled up and begin to recite in a low voice "Saint Mark, Holy Cross, Saint Barbara, do not leave us."
